


A Rose by Any Other Name

by silverfoxstole



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxstole/pseuds/silverfoxstole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archie, off watch and bored, becomes curious about Bush's first name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rose by Any Other Name

It was almost beyond the power of Archie Kennedy to remain silent for more than ten minutes at a time, and even that was an immense hardship, endured purely because to chatter on the quarterdeck was not the done thing at all, especially on a ship captained by a mad, paranoid old man who saw mutiny and revolution in every off-hand word and sidelong glance. Keeping one’s own counsel was a good idea, but sadly not one to which Kennedy often subscribed; he was perfectly happy to wear his heart on his sleeve, to speak his mind whenever the fancy took him and prided himself that it reflected well upon him for others to know exactly where they stood. Quiet people unnerved him, though he would never openly admit it, and there were few of his acquaintance quieter than Second Lieutenant Bush, who never spoke it seemed unless absolutely necessary and even then apparently thought twice about it.

Bush was in the wardroom now, sitting on the seat beneath the porthole, across the wide table from Kennedy. For once he actually looked relaxed, one knee bent and head bowed over the book he rested on it, the slightest of frowns between his eyebrows. He had been there for half an hour at least, and other than a nod of the head had not acknowledged the younger man’s presence at all. Archie threw off his jacket and helped himself to a drink, deliberately clinking glass and decanter in an attempt to gain his colleague’s attention but Bush continued to studiously ignore him. It was true that they had initially got off on the wrong foot – well, actually Archie had disliked the formal, rather pompous Bush on sight and he knew the feeling had been mutual; the other man’s slapping down of him when he (perhaps unwisely) attempted to speak up for Midshipman Wellard also still rankled, but relations had been a little more cordial after the furtive meeting between the four lieutenants in the hold a few days before. Archie had not wanted to allow Bush to join them, still suspicious of his loyalties, but Horatio seemed to trust him and Archie trusted Horatio. They were all in it together now, anyway, after the Captain’s fall, and it would not do to fight amongst themselves. Still, Bush’s close-mouthed tendencies were still frustrating; in three months Archie couldn’t recall ever having had a proper conversation with the man.

“That must be an absorbing book,” he remarked, deciding recklessly that today might be the time to try; he was off watch, Horatio had the deck and it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do. Bush just grunted, so he continued, “It looks well-loved; a favourite of yours?”

“Just a textbook. I sometimes have a need to refresh my memory.”

Archie had to stop himself just in time from pulling a face. “You disappoint me, Mr Bush. I’d hoped it was a play, or a volume of poetry at the very least.”

“My apologies, Mr Kennedy.” This time Bush did glance up, one eyebrow lifted slightly. “I had no idea my choice of reading matter might offend you. Would you rather I took it below, out of sight?”

“I am merely surprised that you don’t choose to put your leisure time to better use. We have so little free time; why waste it studying? There are more important things in life, after all.”

“More important than spherical trigonometry?” Bush enquired, his eyebrow inching upwards.

Now Archie did grimace. “Anything is more important than that,” he declared emphatically. “Horatio likes to play cards, and he’s damnably good at it; for myself I prefer to peruse the Bard, or immerse myself in a little Wordsworth or Cowper. Perhaps visit the Opera if I am ashore and have the coin. What do you do for pleasure, Mr Bush?”

“It’s rare that I find myself with the time or inclination to concentrate upon anything but my work, Mr Kennedy.”

“A man is more than his profession. You must have some way of passing the time; what do you do when you are at home?” Archie asked, unable to believe that anyone could spend their life without amusement of some sort. One could tell a lot about a person by their choice in books or music; it was very difficult to read someone who professed to a liking of neither.

Bush’s lips twitched. “I appreciate the peace and quiet,” he said, and turned his attention back to his book, evidently deciding to put an end to the discussion. He had reckoned without Archie, however, who got up, wandering about the wardroom and examining the dull pictures and the view from the windows as though they were the most interesting things in the world. Stopping to take a long, critical look at an indifferent seascape that hung just above Bush’s head, he narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips and muttered nonsense about the perspective and the artist’s intentions until the Second Lieutenant slammed his book shut and threw it down onto the seat beside him.

“What do you want, Mr Kennedy?” he demanded. “Is it your intention entirely to plague me?”

Archie tried to hide his smile. Horatio, familiar with his more irritating tricks, knew to ignore him until he got bored, but it seemed Bush had not the same gift of patience. “Just trying to get to know you a little better, Mr Bush. Or should I call you...” He thought for a minute, frowning. “Well, damn it, I don’t believe I know your first name.”

“I don’t believe I’d give you permission to use it if you did.” Bush retorted, glaring at him. “’Sir’ will do perfectly well.”

“Ah, but that’s not a name, is it, _sir_?” Archie asked. He supposed that his omission of the proper respect for rank annoyed such a stickler for protocol as Bush had proved himself to be. “If you won’t tell me, at least allow me to guess. It will help to pass the time.”

Bush rolled his eyes. “Do I have any choice in the matter?”

“Well, I suppose you could always offer to mind the Captain; I’m sure Doctor Clive would probably appreciate an hour’s relief.”

There was a visible shudder across the older man’s shoulders. “No, thank you.”

“Well, then, a game it is.” Archie sat down, lounging back in the chair and contemplating his senior officer. “You look like a straight, solid fellow so imagine you must have a name to match. John, perhaps? Or Peter? Matthew, even - ”

“Mr Kennedy, am I to sit here while you randomly list the Apostles?” Bush enquired impatiently. “My name is not Judas, is that is what you are thinking.”

Archie ignored him. “You don’t look like a Paul to me... Maybe it’s something more outlandish, which is why you are so reluctant to divulge it. Perhaps Zachariah, or Hezekiah? Ishmael... no, Belshazzar!”

“Belshazzar Bush? Good God!”

“Well, let me try another tack. How about... Bartholomew? Or Caliban?”

“You are being utterly ridiculous,” Bush snapped.

“What on Earth are you doing, Archie?” a new voice enquired. He glanced around to see that Horatio had entered the wardroom and was regarding them in baffled amusement. 

“I didn’t hear the watch being changed, Mr Hornblower,” Bush remarked, his relief at the sight of the new arrival obvious. He slid from the window seat and went to pour himself a drink.

“Oh, it hasn’t, sir. The wind’s getting up and the spray is rather fierce; I just came down for my coat,” Horatio replied, crossing to his little cabin. “Has life become so dull that you need to indulge in children’s games?”

“I was trying to guess Mr Bush’s name, since he refused to reveal it to me,” Archie explained, knocking back the last of his Madeira. 

His friend frowned again. “Well, surely, if you were just to ask - ”

“I have done. And still its owner keeps it a secret.” 

“Perhaps it was the _way_ in which you asked, Archie.”

“More likely that it is so bizarre that Mr Bush is embarrassed we might discover the truth,” Archie said, glancing back at their superior, who returned his gaze without a flicker of emotion, evidently having brought his annoyance back under control. 

Horatio looked utterly bewildered. “I don’t understand why you should be making such an issue of it. I’ve known Mr Bush’s name for weeks.”

“Weeks?” Archie sat up in his chair. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think you would be interested. And it was not my confidence to give.”

“You know, Mr Kennedy, that you are damned impertinent,” Bush said, and almost smiled when Archie replied,

“Oh, I’m well aware of that, sir.”

“That does not surprise me in the least. But I must tell you that in your current line of questioning you are barking up entirely the wrong tree. My name does not come from the Bible or the more fanciful works of Shakespeare.”

Archie’s eyes narrowed. “So you _do_ read.”

“I said that I rarely have time and inclination, Mr Kennedy, not that I never did.” Bush was definitely smiling now, and Archie wanted to smack him; in fact, he would quite like to smack both of them, as Horatio was grinning too and Horatio siding against him was not to be borne.

“You should put him out of his misery, sir, or he’ll plague you for days,” Horatio said, evidently unaware of the death-glare Archie was shooting his way. He shrugged on his tarpaulin coat and pulled his queue free of the collar.

Bush regarded the wine in his glass. “Very well. If you must know, Mr Kennedy, my name is William.”

It was so commonplace that Archie could not help being disappointed. “You are jesting with me, Mr Bush.”

“I can assure you I’m not. It’s William Jonathan, if you must have it all. An ordinary name for an ordinary man, is it not?” Bush’s eyebrow quirked again and Archie scowled. “And what about you, Mr Kennedy? Precisely what kind of appellation did your parents inflict upon you?”

Horatio looked at him and Archie tensed. “You know my name,” he said and Horatio lifted a brow in unconscious imitation of the Second Lieutenant. “It’s Archibald. Archibald Kennedy.”

“Ah, but that’s not all of it, is it, Archie?” Horatio asked, the grin back on his lips. “It’s far more interesting than that.”

“You are a fine one to talk, ‘Ratio.” 

“Well, Mr Kennedy? I’ve confessed, now it’s your turn,” Bush told him. “It surely can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it can, sir, believe me. That’s why he never wants to tell anyone,” Horatio replied. “Come on, Archie, you’re among friends here.”

“Not for much longer. Sir,” Archie said, addressing Bush, “If I were to strangle Mr Hornblower and hide his body in a cask of salt beef do you think the Court Martial would be lenient with me if I pleaded extreme provocation?”

The older man shrugged. “I could put in a good word for you with the board, if I believed there were extenuating circumstances.”

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. I may also need help some getting him into the barrel; he has ridiculously long legs and I fear they would get in the way.”

“Archie, don’t jest about courts martial,” Horatio hissed, turning his gaze to the ceiling and the great cabin above them. The thought of Sawyer up there, whether unconscious, alert or incoherent and rambling, had the effect of dampening any levity immediately. Doctor Clive was still refusing to declare the Captain unfit for command and there had been a sense for the last few days that they were living with the Sword of Damocles above their heads. In such circumstances was it any wonder Archie was feeling desperate to inject some humour into their day?

“Oh, very well,” he said now. “My name, Mr Bush, is Archibald Algernon Abercrombie Kennedy. And I have no intention of allowing Lieutenant Horatio Hercules Hornblower to escape so easily.”

Horatio glared at him; Bush snorted, almost choking on his drink in a not very creditable attempt not to laugh. “Good God,” he said in a rather strangled voice. “You two really were dealt a bad hand. You’re lucky your last name doesn’t begin with an A, Kennedy.”

“I give thanks for it daily, sir.”

“My name is not Hercules, sir,” Horatio announced. “Mr Kennedy is trying to be amusing.”

“Well, Horatio and Hornblower are bad enough. But are you not alliterative yourself, sir?” Archie asked, adding when the Second Lieutenant looked puzzled, “Do you never get called Bill Bush?”

“Oh. No, thank God; Bill was my father. I have always been William, or Will to family and friends.”

There was an awkward silence which followed such a pronouncement; Archie couldn’t quite be sure if Bush was inviting them to use his name or not. It seemed that Horatio had decided the latter for he saluted and said, “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’d better get back on deck before Mr Buckland notices I’m missing.”

“I wonder what Mr Buckland’s name is?” Archie mused. “Probably something entirely inappropriate, like Agamemnon.” He heard Bush snort into his wine glass again and grinned; Horatio gave him a chiding look.

“Archie...”

“Perhaps _his_ name is Hercules,” Archie suggested.

“Mr Hornblower, why are you not on watch?” a querulous voice demanded, and a moment later the First Lieutenant himself appeared in the doorway, wearing what for Buckland passed as a stern glare, but for anyone else would be a mildly exasperated frown. Buckland was even more jittery than normal since the Captain’s fall into the hold, as though he thought that Sawyer might be watching him from around every corner, ready to cry ‘Mutiny! Hang ‘em all!’ To be fair, it wasn’t an unreasonable fear, but if they all gave in to it the ship would never function.

“My apologies, sir, I was just on my way,” Horatio replied, picking up his hat. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation later, gentlemen.”

“Indeed,” Buckland agreed. “I hardly think it would reflect well upon us were the Captain to return to his senses only to discover the three of you gossiping down here like a parcel of old women. Mr Hobbs has had the deck for too long in your absence, Mr Hornblower; he has his own duties to attend to.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” With a shrug of the eyebrows that the First Lieutenant could not see, Horatio departed. Buckland lingered, however, his presence, despite his uneasy position by the door, filling the room with discomfort. Bush poured himself another glass of Madeira, larger this time, raising the decanter in silent query. Archie nodded and pushed his own glass across the table but Buckland shook his head emphatically.

“Oh, no, no, no, Mr Bush, not when I am on duty. Some of us have to keep a clear head. I wonder... whatever were you discussing that distracted Mr Hornblower so? Ship’s business? If so, I believe I have a right to be included, do I not?”

“Not _quite_ ship’s business, sir,” Bush said carefully. “We - ”

“Actually, sir, we were just wondering what your name was,” Archie cut in. “Mr Bush here is a William and I have confessed to being an Archibald; we were curious about your good self.”

“Oh, I see.” Buckland looked surprised by the fairly innocuous nature of the conversation, as though he had expected them to be plotting something. “Well, as long as it goes no further and you understand that it is not to be used under any circumstances...? It would do discipline no good if the ship’s officers began addressing each other by their Christian names.”

“We understand, sir,” Bush assured him, and Archie nodded, biting his lip and hoping Buckland would not notice that he was trying not to laugh.

“Very well, it is Hubert,” the First Lieutenant announced proudly. Archie bit down harder and he could see a muscle twitch in Bush’s cheek. “Hubert Godfrey, actually. I was named after my two seafaring uncles, so it was inevitable I would end up in the Navy.”

“Very... stirring names, sir,” Bush said diplomatically, and Archie had no idea how he managed to keep such a straight face. “I’m sure they were fine, fighting men.”

“Well, actually Mr Bush, one was a ship’s cook and the other a coxswain,” Buckland admitted. “But that is neither here nor there. It is the sea in the blood that matters, is it not?”

“Indeed it is, sir.”

Buckland glanced around the room and his gaze alighted on Archie, who was reduced to driving his nails into his leg in a desperate attempt not to burst into hysterics; he wished fervently that the First Lieutenant would leave the room before he did. “Are you quite well, Mr Kennedy?”

“Mr Kennedy has had a touch too much sun today, sir,” Bush said quickly and Archie silently thanked him for he knew he would not have been able to trust himself to speak. “He’s not used to the climate down here. I’ll see that he lies down somewhere cool and dark.”

“Thank you, Mr Bush. Well, carry on, both of you.” With a final, concerned glance at Archie, Buckland departed. Archie held his breath, counting the steps it would take the First Lieutenant to reach the companionway; he ran to the door, closing it and leaning on the wood mere seconds before the laughter burst out, great whoops that almost made his stomach hurt. Bush was grinning, too.

“Good Grief, Hubert Godfrey,” Archie gasped, eyes streaming. He wiped at them with his sleeve. “Never was a man more aptly named. His parents obviously had his measure from the first.”

“Mr Kennedy...” Bush growled, but his warning tone was countermanded by his dancing eyes. He finished his wine and carefully put the glass down on the tray. “I suppose I should go and speak to Hobbs about that gun drill we were discussing yesterday; the men are long overdue some exercise and we’ve little time to get them into shape before we reach Samana Bay.”

“Of course, sir.” Archie tried to sober up and failed. “I wonder... what do you suppose Hobbs is called?”

Bush’s eyebrow arched once more. “’Orrible,” he said, and Archie started laughing all over again.


End file.
